


something more.

by normaslouise



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normaslouise/pseuds/normaslouise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during The Magician's Apprentice. A missing moment from the imprisonment scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something more.

“Will—you— ** _shut it?!_** ”

“I will _not!_ ”

The singing! She can’t take the singing! It’s not even proper singing, it’s just vowels! She must have been singing for hours—days, even! There’s no gaging time here, locked in a cell with her arms pinned behind her back by a disgusting body-snake. There’s no clock, no windows, hardly any light… there’s nothing. Nothing but her bloody singing.

And the Doctor’s footsteps, steady and heavy.

She's going mad. Perhaps she's already gone mad. But before Clara can so much as _breathe_ , she is at it again, chirping a nameless tune as her boots knock from side to side and her head sways along with them. Just watching her makes the teacher's stomach knot. How can she sing in a time like that? They’re here because the Doctor is going to die— _actually_ die. They should be making some sort of plan, shouldn’t they? Figuring out what they’ll do when the guards come in? Trying to find a way out? Anything? Anything?!

Somehow, Missy gets louder. 

Clara’s jaw clenches.

“If you don’t stop singing, I’m going to—“

“Going to what, dear?” Missy chirps, pausing just long enough to throw an exhausted look over her shoulder the Doctor’s newest plaything. “Weak little thing like you? Puh- _lease_. I'd eat you for breakfast—even stay bound for you, naughty thing.”

“Oh, yeah? Nearly killed you last time we met,” Clara growls, inching herself closer to the purple-clad Time Lady, her brown eyes narrowing in on Missy’s blue ones. 

But Missy pays no mind, closing her eyes and continuing her tune.

She’s had enough. If she doesn’t get out of here soon, one of them is going to have to die. Frustrated, Clara turns her attention to the Doctor. He barely seems to notice them, too focused on his next footfall to hear how annoying his _best friend_ is being.

His best friend. Funny how she thought that was _her_ title. All they’ve been through, all they’ve done together, and he sends his final goodbye to the woman that turned the Earth’s dead into killer tin-men. Sure, they had history—everyone with _eyes_ can see they have history—but they hate each other. Friends don’t hate each other. 

Or at least, not since the last time she checked.

Watching him now, she can see his age. Usually she looks at him and thinks him no older than his previous selves—she doesn’t see lines or wrinkles, just him. Just the Doctor. But sometimes, only sometimes, she can see the universe in the downward curl of his lips. She can see centuries furrowed between his eyebrows. Sometimes, no matter what his face, he looks ancient.

It makes her heart ache. 

Doesn’t Missy see this? Missy, his best mate, his best enemy—doesn’t she see what Clara sees? She must. She must and yet she continues to sing, to annoy the daylights out of everyone within earshot. The Doctor considers her a friend, yeah, but no friend would do this. No friend would joke about right now. The Doctor deserves better, dammit!

Even if she’s not his best friend, he is definitely her.

“Doctor.”

She doesn’t know what he can do, but he has to do something.

He has to say something.

“Doctor!” A beat. He still paces, unfazed.

“Doc—“

“Doctor! Oh, Doctor! Doctor, Doctor, _Doctor!_ Doc— **tor!** ” Each time Missy says his name it’s longer, louder, more exaggerated and whiny and taunting. She leans closer, closer, until her chin nearly rests of Clara’s shoulder. “Fat lot of good this one is, _Docccccctor_. She can’t even cope with imprisonment! Definitely made a mistake in sending this one your way, I did. Serves me right for messing about with your humans.”

Sod the Doctor. Clara’s blood boils, her eyes narrow; she opens her mouth, ready to give Missy the lashing of a _dozen_ lifetimes, when another voice fills the cell. 

“Missy, stop teasing her.”

It isn’t quite a command but it’s more than a suggestion. He’s facing the door, two or three steps from turning back towards them. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his head is bowed. He looks tired—sounds tired.

Instantly, Clara knows he’s heard everything.

“Clara, leave her be—” 

For the first time, he looks over at them. No, not at them—at her. At Missy. Clara traces the line between them, following from one Gallifreyan to the other, expecting to find her lips curled in a wicked scowl, ready to say something about how amusing it was, how the Doctor never let her have any fun, how she was being on her best behavior at it was...

But that’s not what she saw. It’s only there for a second, maybe not even that long, but she catches it. It’s the same look he’s wearing; weary and battle-worn. She’s been it before, back on Earth. 

_“I need my friend back.”_

She knows it's true, but it's hard to think that there was a time when these two weren’t at odds. All the bickering, all the one-upping, it wasn't always how it was—how they were. But it doesn’t matter now. One look, one shared look, and she gets it. She can see it. She can see _them_. And what she sees… it’s more than she can ever begin to understand.

“She’s scared.”

A second, maybe not even that long, and it’s gone. There’s the smirk. There’s the teasing glimmer in her eye.

The Doctor continues his pacing.

Missy picks up where she left off.

Clara stays silent.


End file.
